


How Mickey Got His Anal Beads (And What He Did with Them)

by skepwith



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 08:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2222427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepwith/pseuds/skepwith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sex toys were near the back, past the flimsy racks of DVDs. "The fuck?" he muttered, staring at a row of sparkly gold dildos in plastic cases. Like shoving a silicone dick up your ass wasn't gay enough, they had to add glitter too? Jesus Christ. Besides the gold there was just about every other damn color—purple and green and blue, for chrissakes—and some of them were in crazy shapes like a bunch of alien dicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Mickey Got His Anal Beads (And What He Did with Them)

It was a shitty-looking little store, with a sign that said XXX VID O and a one-armed mannequin in the window wearing fishnets and some kind of weird-ass bondage get-up. He must've passed the place a dozen times without ever really looking at it, but it was the first place he thought of when he realized his own fingers were feeling pretty inadequate after the regular reamings he was getting from Gallagher in the Kash and Grab walk-in. Even so, it had taken him a few days to find his balls and actually walk through the front door. What the hell, he told himself; he could always pretend he was looking for girl-on-girl porn.

It wasn't any less shitty-looking on the inside, but at least it was empty. The only other person there was the tattooed chick behind the counter, who was busy flipping through one of those free papers with some shitty hipster band on the cover and a bunch of kinky ads in the back. She didn't even look up, which was fine by him. The last thing he wanted here was stellar customer service, especially from someone who looked like she belonged in a sideshow.

The sex toys were near the back, past the flimsy racks of DVDs. "The fuck?" he muttered, staring at a row of sparkly gold dildos in plastic cases. Like shoving a silicone dick up your ass wasn't gay enough, they had to add glitter too? Jesus Christ. Besides the gold there was just about every other damn color—purple and green and blue, for chrissakes—and some of them were in crazy shapes like a bunch of alien dicks. A faded, hand-written sign taped to the shelf said Batteries Not Included. Batteries?

"Hey, uh, you got any of them, uh…" he started. The tattooed freak looked up and he nearly chickened out, but then he thought fuck that—no way was he scared of some porno clerk. He flexed his shoulders and said, "Yeah, my girlfriend, she's into, like, anal stuff."

"Uh huh."

Barnum & Bailey did not seem convinced, but she also didn't look like she gave a shit, so he let it pass. Besides, he couldn't exactly punch her in the face. "Yeah," he said, "you got any shit like that?"

"Anal toys are over there," she said, flicking a finger at the wall behind him before going back to her paper.

He found a shelf of bullet-shaped things with flared bases that he was pretty sure were supposed to go in your ass. There were others that were more cock-shaped, but no way was he taking one of those home for his brothers to find and ask him about. In fact, everything there looked pretty suspicious now that he thought about it. Shit. Except, what the hell was this?

"Hey, what the hell is this?" He held up the string in one hand and waved it at B&B.

She marked her place with a finger and scowled at him. "They're anal beads." He just stared at her, so she gave him you-moron eyes and added, "You put 'em in your ass and then pull them out."

"Oh. Like ben wa balls?" He'd heard his brothers talk about those: chicks shoved them in their pussies for kicks or something. He'd tried not to pay close attention.

"Not really. But, whatever, close enough, I guess."

When she rang him up he said, "You gotta be fucking kidding me." But it was pretty clear she didn't kid about this or anything else, so he sucked it up and paid the money. "They better be fucking worth it."

He carried them home stuffed in his pocket and ran to his room like the house was full of sex-toy-sniffing German shepherds. "The fuck are you in such a hurry?" snarled Terry from the couch. "Gotta piss," he shouted as he shoved them under his mattress. Then he had to go use the can so the old man wouldn't think he was lying.

He thought about them all day and all through dinner, couldn't believe how long the evening dragged on. Finally, he knocked back the last of his beer and stood up, saying, "Fuck this, I'm going to bed." Mandy was the only one who lifted her glazed eyes from the TV. "'Night," she said. His brothers were doing their usual catatonic impression; Terry just grunted.

They were still there, of course, under the mattress. He groped around under the bed and found the bottle of hand lotion he'd pocketed at the drug store last month. Not that he hadn't had enough money to pay for it, but he wouldn't be caught dead buying something that faggy. He stripped down to his wife-beater and boxers and got under the covers before shoving the worn elastic waist down around his hips. His heart was beating fast, and he felt excited and embarrassed at the same time. You're a weird kinky fuck, Milkovich, he thought. Fuck you, he thought back—the usual end to his mental conversations.

The first one went in easy. He was face-down, right knee bent, propped on one forearm while his other hand worked the beads past his rim. His fingers were slippery with lotion and he kept losing his grip on the damn things. He pushed another one inside. It was nothing like being fucked by Ian. They felt weirdly flexible compared to a dick, and not really full enough. He shoved in a couple more, felt the first ones push against him inside. It made him flex his hips, which ground the beads against each other and against the joy buzzer in his ass. He whined a little—just a little. His dick was hard now and reaching for his belly, bobbing a little with the movement of his hips. Fuck. His breath was loud in his ears, the bed creaking rhythmically; he hoped no one could hear it. His ass was jerking up and down like it had a mind of its own (which, God knew, it pretty much did), grinding the beads against that spot; he thrust in two more beads and bit his lip to keep a groan inside at the fantastic pain of being stretched. He could picture Ian behind him, almost feel his wide hands spread across Mickey's hips, holding him in just the right place as he pounded into him over and over and over, hitting the bullseye every single fucking time like goddamn Robin Hood.

He face-planted into the pillow, where his hot breath made a wet patch on the fabric, and his fist clutched the edge of the mattress like a life raft. His other hand hovered near his cock, hesitating: he could jerk himself off now, and it would be good, but hadn't circus chick said something about pulling them out? Was that part of it?

He reached back to where the rest of the beads were hanging out of his ass like some kind of fucked-up tail. The first tug wasn't enough, so he wrapped the string around his fingers and pulled harder, the pressure building until the muscle gave, the bead popped out, and a shiver chased itself all the way up his spine. Fuck. Something about the pressure from the inside… He did it again, more slowly, and then again, whimpering each time and biting into the pillow. Oh, fuck, he was a literal pillow-biter, wasn't he? Ian would laugh so hard if he could see him. He'd smirk at him with that challenge in his eyes, that "can you take it?" dare Mickey could never refuse. Ian'd lean close against his back, skin to skin, and whisper ticklish and low in his ear: "That's one hungry ass you've got there, Mick."

Mickey shoved himself up on his knees and wrapped a hand around his needy cock, lotion and pre-come making slick slurping noises as he fisted himself. His other hand was still pulling the beads out of his ass—they seemed endless, like that stupid fucking magic trick with the colored scarves—and the two sensations at once were sending him hurtling toward the edge. He imagined Ian's arms around him, reaching around to pinch a nipple (God, yes!), long fingers grasping his jaw, lightly, gently: Ian didn't have to prove his strength, Mickey could feel it; it turned his insides to water every time. "You like that, don't you?" murmured imaginary Ian, and Mickey nodded frantically and bit his lip hard to keep from saying out loud all the crazy shit that was running through his head: _yes, yes I fucking love it, please don't stop, oh God, oh fuck, so good Ian, so fucking good, I love the way you fuck me Ian, love it so fucking much…_ His back arched, his toes dug into the sheets, and with a long shudder he came all over his fist.

Holy shit. That was…intense.

The bed was a mess. The blanket had slithered onto the floor at some point, and the sheets were covered in sweat and jizz, but he felt too good to give a fuck. He was lying on his back, breathing like a landed fish, his skin flushed, sweat cooling on his temples, the hollow of his throat, the backs of his knees. He picked up the string of beads—balls—whatever the fuck they were called—from where they lay coiled on the sheet. What would Ian say if he asked him to use them on Mickey? Not at the Kash and Grab. Maybe Ian could come over sometime when everyone was out and they could have the house to themselves. No, that was fucking stupid. Gallagher would think it was some kind of gay date shit and next thing you know they'd be holding hands and shopping for antiques. No fucking way.

Mickey bit his lip, and a slow smile spread all the way across his face. Fuck it. It'd be worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so, you know, be gentle. Hope you enjoy it, 'cause I sure had a blast writing it.


End file.
